Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,20

turn allows their government to forsake all social responsibility and focus on groveling facedown in the gutter to let the great amoral capitalistic parasites slither through the diseased streets of the nation’s corpus unimpeded and unquestioned,” I said.

“Cool,” said Cirrus. Then she broke into cackles. “You’re weird.”

Had I gone on and on? I sometimes had a tendency to go on and on.

I remembered my outfit. I remembered I was cool.

“Honestly, I eat here because it’s quiet,” I said. “I don’t need to hear a bunch of screaming about which filter looks better.”

“Or whose hair makes a candidate more electable,” said Cirrus.

“Or how our team needs to score more points than the other guys to win at football,” I said. “The answer is more. The answer is always more.”

We cackled together, two crazies holding up a wall. We ate.

“That’s something I’ve been curious about in your exotic land,” said Cirrus. “American foot-ball. It seems very important here.”

I pulled out my phone, scrolled around the horribly designed school website, and showed slick professional photos of our team to her.

“It is,” I said. “The whole school revolves around the sport.”

“The one where boys in super-tight, super-sexy pants hold endless outdoor meetings about the fate of an inflated pig bladder while pretending to not have hidden desires for one another,” said Cirrus.

I stopped mid-chew and gazed at her, amazed. Because she was amazing. “That’s the one,” I said.

“Not that other football, where openly racist hooligans jeer each other over which player pulled off a foul with the most convincing theatrics,” she said with a sly smile.

Gazelles wished they could leap high enough to match the grace of her wit.

“Six of one,” I said, and smiled back.

“I also saw something about a Hawking dance?” said Cirrus.

I groaned. “Sadie Hawkins. The revolutionary concept behind that event is that the girl asks the boy to attend, not the other way around.”

“Reminds me of White Day in Asia,” said Cirrus. “The revolutionary concept behind that is that the girl gives chocolates to the boy.”

“That’s it?” I said.

“Doesn’t take much,” said Cirrus.

“Mind blown,” I said, and we cackled some more.

“So I guess we have some to-do items in our cultural orientation queue,” said Cirrus.

I found myself smiling so much that my head exploded with light that consumed our planet to transform it into a new rival star.

Cirrus ate her last bite, wadded up the eco-friendly, compostable wrapper, and swished a trash can ten feet away with ease. She lobbed mine, too: swish.

She glanced again at my phone.

“It looks like the next American foot-ball match is tomorrow night,” said Cirrus.

“It is,” I said warily.

“What’s a foot-ball match like?” she said.

“They’re a spectacular example of what happens when an entire culture represses their sexuality under the banner of sport,” I said.

In truth, however, I didn’t know—I had never attended a football game. Why would I waste time on that kind of bull-sparkle?

“Foot-ball sounds like it would be hilarious to watch,” said Cirrus.

And with that, I decided O hell yes, I must now go to a foot-ball match.

“I’ll swing by your house tomorrow and we can witness it together,” I said.

It was one of the bravest things I’d ever said in my whole life. Not just because I had never gone to a high school football game before, but also because I had never asked a girl out to anything ever. Now I just had. And the girl was named Cirrus.

She leaned back. She considered me.

“I meant to say earlier that I like your outfit,” she said now with a smile that could revive crops withered by atomic fallout. “Do you have a gig tonight or something?”

“Nah,” I said. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Bam!

It’s! Just! Wednesday!

“Well,” said Cirrus with a tilt of her head. “I think you look really cool.”

Everything went silent but for the lingering ell of Cirrus’s cool.

you look really coooolllllllllll

“. . .” said Cirrus. “. . . . . . . . .”

I marveled as a nearby skateboard slid to a halt without a sound. A study group broke into mute laughter. Classroom doors silently flapped open and shut.

“?” said Cirrus. “? ?, ?!, ?!?!”

The world returned with a whoosh and a pop, and I realized Cirrus had placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hello?” said Cirrus.

“Heyyyyyyy—” I said. “—yyyyyyyyyyy—”

“—yyyyyyy,” said two voices, joining in.

Milo and Jamal, looking down at me like There you are. We rose from our hidden lunch spot.

“Where’s your outfits?” said Cirrus, indicating their rudimentary choices in clothing.

They glanced at me with their brows lowered just a millimeter,